


Hating

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Desperation, Guilt, Incest, M/M, Oral Sex, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 14:20:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11015148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: It’s not right. There’s not a universe in the world where it comes even close to right, where Dean wouldn’t lie awake some nights, hating himself, hating his life, hating everything in the world but his brother.





	Hating

It’s not right. There’s not a universe in the world where it comes even close to right, where Dean wouldn’t lie awake some nights, hating himself, hating his life, hating everything in the world but his brother.

“Dean?” Sam asks again, and Dean tips his head up slightly. He doesn’t actually answer, can’t force his mouth to make any kind of sound, but that doesn’t matter. As Sam pulls off his shirt, his body is illuminated by the streetlight outside, striping his body with blind-shaped shadows, and Dean feels his mouth dry a little.

Sam kicks off his jeans, kneeling on the side of the bed, and Dean sits up to meet him, lets Sam kiss him on the mouth, draw his hand through Dean’s hair – that’s the main thing, really. That’s Dean’s _sin_.

He lets it happen.

He never initiates it, too crippled with guilt to do so even though he loves it just as much as Sammy does, shit, but he lets Sam crawl on top of him, lets Sam’s fingers rove over his body, lets Sam fuck him, and he doesn’t argue.

He should. Christ knows he should. But he doesn’t.

“Sam,” Dean whispers, and Sam chuckles against his mouth, wet fingers touching between Dean’s thighs – and of course, Dean already had his boxers off. Sam’s index and ring finger slide right inside him, going in a little too easy, and Dean whimpers out a sound that makes Sam laugh harder, dragging his teeth over the side of Dean’s jaw.

“Getting a bit too easy there, huh, Dean?” Sam asks, and Dean clenches his teeth, his eyes shutting tightly as Sam thrusts his fingers in a little deeper, the base of his hand pressed right up against Dean, and when Sam shifts his hand and presses another finger into him, Dean feels like screaming, but he can’t, can’t, _can’t_. “You want me to fuck you?”

“Sammy, please, just do it,” Dean says, tone harsh and whining, and Sam laughs at him as he pushes Dean back onto the bed, throwing him around with a little too much ease. When they’re sparring, even, Dean finds that Sam’s become a little too strong in the past few years, but Dean doesn’t much want to complain about it – if Sam knew how much it pissed him off, he’d never quit showing it off.

Dean drops to his belly on the bed, pressing his face into the pillow, pretends he doesn’t love this part, when Sam lines himself up and sinks himself slowly into Dean like a hot bath at the end of a long day: he always gives the same soft sigh, like this is where he belongs, like he’s been waiting for this for weeks, like Dean’s ass is his fucking _home_.

Gasping into the sheets, Dean tries to support himself on his lower arms, but Sam grabs at his hands and pins his wrists above his head: Sam’s just too damn heavy these days, and in this position, with a cock in his ass, Dean hasn’t really got any options beyond taking it.

“Sam, quit it,” Dean says, trying to sound stern, but Sam is rolling his hips in those slow, teasing movements he favours when he has Dean pinned down like this, when Dean can’t even fuck his hips down against the mattress. His cock is hard as Hell, but he can’t even get any friction on it, and Sam does this just to drive him crazy.

“Quit what?” Sam leans away, drawing his cock out so just the head is keeping Dean stretched open, and Dean feels the emptiness so fucking keenly he nearly wails.

“Do whatever you want,” Dean says, so quickly he stumbles over the words, and Sam laughs against the back of his neck before biting the skin there, sucking a mark into his brother’s fucking neck. Dean wishes he was on his back so that Sam would touch his cock, but if he were on his back he’d have to look at Sam’s face, all ecstasy and heat, and that’d be worse.

Sam speeds up the pace, begins to slam so hard into Dean that every thrust makes a ringing _slapping_ sound of Sam against Dean’s asscheeks, drawing hard over Dean’s prostate and making him gasp every other time, like a staccato under the rhythm Sam’s making himself. When Sam comes, it floods Dean, soaks him on the inside and makes him press his face as hard into the pillow as he can, because it’s not _fair_ , how much the pulse of Sam inside him drives him fucking _crazy_ , how hard he is, how desperate.

“Lemme suck you,” Sam whispers in Dean’s ear as he releases his wrists, drawing the tips of his fingers over Dean’s back and breathing down the length of his spine. Dean’s too weak, and Sam’s too much: Dean lets himself be flipped over, and when Sam puts his mouth around Dean’s cock, Dean bites at his own fist to keep from screaming.

He looks at Sam, sweaty, with a drop of Dean’s come on the side of his mouth and his hair all stupid and floppy around his face, and he hates himself, and he hates his life, but he fucking _loves_ Sam, and he can’t _help_ it.

“S’good,” he mumbles, and drops onto the bed, pressing his face into the pillow and pretending to fall right asleep. He feels Sam’s hand over his flank, the touch sweet and gentle, and then he hears Sam drop into the other bed.

 _Shit_ , Dean thinks, closes his eyes, and tries his hardest to just get some sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, hope you enjoyed that! Check [this link](http://dictionarywrites.tumblr.com/post/160853818533/request-commission-information) out if you’re interested in making a request. I love requests, so please feel free to send them in! Commissions are open, and I do have a tip jar too, if you're interested.


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